


Always More Time

by Ace Valerson (BattleDragonAzzie)



Category: RWBY
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Basically I just want Ozpin to be okay??, Comfort/Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Just the finale, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Volume 3 (RWBY), Volume 3 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-05-21 22:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6060339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BattleDragonAzzie/pseuds/Ace%20Valerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I know. You have every reason to be concerned.<br/>But you, Glynda, Qrow, of all people you have to understand.<br/>This is something I have to take at my own pace."</p><p>Hope wins out in the end. Ozpin has been found, freed, and brought back to Vale as reconstruction picks up once more. The Grimm have been vanquished from the city walls at no small cost, but the reappearance of Beacon's Headmaster has given the people what they needed to start again. But to those who know him best, it's far too apparent that shattered pieces of their leader, their friend, lie back in the hell they found him in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_You should rest, Ozpin. You deserve it._

The voice in the doorway wasn't exactly unexpected. It had become a sort of routine, a cycle between his allies. James, Glynda, Qrow. Occasionally Oobleck and Port would stop by, various other professors. He'd been asked to let a student in on one of Glynda's shifts, one Velvet Scarletina. He knew the girl. He knew all of his students. That was exactly why he couldn't bear the thought of seeing them, more accurately them seeing him as he was. The physical wounds would heal. The emotional ones would, too... but even he wasn't stupid enough to hold onto the belief that it would be fast or easy. Hope was hard enough to keep. James, Glynda, Qrow. Every hour and a half or so, near clockwork. They were trying to make it seem natural, amiable, like they weren't as worried as they were. James smelled of oil and Dust, as if his times off were spent shooting. Glynda kept to a pattern, exactly three minutes too early or too late. Qrow... Qrow never left the door. It didn't take much to know, though not for lack of skill or effort on Branwen's part. His breath had lost the scent of alcohol the day prior. No time to refill his flask for fear of his charge disappearing again.

Yes, they were his friends, which was why he _couldn't_ call them such. Allies they would stay until he could hope for more than two people again. Until each flicker of light wasn't the witch coming to inflict her judgement once more. Until the voices in the doorway came with their bearers rather than before.

"You should rest, Ozpin. You deserve it."

A voice strong as an oak, roots reaching down to wrap in deep ribs and firm bass resolved enough to either fortify his ranks or rattle the very bones of his enemies. In this case, it was quiet. Testing, were James the sort to toe the waters before stepping in. He'd said the same thing nearly five hours ago. Ozpin didn't need a fallen clocktower to know the passage of time. It was something natural, inherent, worked into his core and cycled with air through his lungs. It was wreathed in the world through all that was and would be. It was how he was so clearly aware of how long he'd been trapped. Without wanting to, he'd measured the space between 'meetings' with _her._ He'd known just how long each encounter took. He was so very _painfully_ aware of his absence's toll, both on himself and on those he'd known. 

Three days, four hours, and six minutes he'd been in this office. Three days, four hours, and six minutes since he'd first been urged to sleep. He knew of Ironwood's pains due to his service, he knew, intellectually, about the things which weren't there. He'd had his fair share before any of these things had come to pass. But this... This was different. This was raw and brutal every time he was too weak to keep his eyes open wide. Even in wakefulness he could still hear the echoes of what she had done. Some of those sounds... He'd lived a long, _long_ while. He would have never guessed such cries could come from his own lips.

"I appreciate your concern, James." The effort necessary to remain cordial was beyond taxing. He wanted to keep his allies at arm's length for fear of... for fear of something he couldn't bring to concrete meaning. It would be so much safer to refer to him as he would in company, General, Ironwood, sir... but that wasn't what _they_ needed. They needed to know that the Headmaster, the Professor, the Ruler of Vale was still with them, that he was _real._ That he was safe. The students were easy to assure, provided they were fed the correct information. The people were hardly a challenge. An announcement of his well being in his own voice, an appearance just far enough away to keep the brunt of his visible assaults concealed to the best of their collective ability. The professors trusted him enough to believe his 'truths,' respected him enough not to question. James Ironwood, Glynda Goodwitch, and Qrow Branwen knew better. That was why he had to treat them with as much care as they handled him with. Perhaps even more.

"When the time comes, rest assured that I will," he continued, turning from the window with a tap of his cane on too-soft carpet and a wince which, damn him, he couldn't conceal fast enough. Standing was still a challenge, but not a privilege he was keen on passing off until he absolutely had to. His knees were likely the least comfortable with the idea. "But until then, there's work to be done. Vale is far from stable. Your guidance would be better served out among the people. You have a keen eye for improvement, they could use that in rebuilding."

James knew better than to break eye contact. James was a military man. James was proud and rightfully so, but apparently something about the ~broken~ man before him wasn't worth his gaze. Ozpin's chest tightened once the general's eyes found the floor at the point of his cane. Wasn't this what he wanted? To be unseen so he might think in privacy? So there was less pressure in hiding his thoughts and recollections?

"Oz... We're worried." Still that testing tone. He was afraid to go too far, perhaps afraid of breaking Vale's absent guardian. They treated him as though he were fragile. Perhaps they were right. At the start he hadn't even been able to hold himself upright. Not after the supporting binds were broken which had done so for him. He caught himself forgetting their hold was gone more often than he'd care to admit. "It's been days since you've slept, you hardly eat--"

"And what about the civilians out there who have nowhere left to sleep? Who still have to accept their meals from a food line?" A sudden bitterness foreign to the steady baritone latched in its claws before Ozpin could even consider that he should be patient, bringing up the General's gaze with a hint of something equally alien. How far he'd come in such a short time. Comparatively, at least, he had lived a long while. Though he may be certain of the passage of time, there were still ways to make it seem to slow. With a self-soothing breath, he forced his bent shoulders to straighten ever so slightly. Control, serenity, it wasn't James' fault. They had done all they could. He was grateful, yes, but he was not made of fractured glass. Once again, this time with his usual dignity and quiet contemplation on his bruise-painted face. "I know. You have every reason to be concerned. But you, Glynda, Qrow, of all people you have to understand. This is something I have to take at my own pace."

"And we would accept that without hesitation if you had taken even a single step! Starving yourself and refusing to sleep isn't moving forward, it's standing still at best." There was the general Ozpin remembered, the voice of steel and force. A spark of defiance lit in the Professor's gaze, but meeting Ironwood's glare left it smothered in surprise... daresay submission. Pass enough time in chains, be they literal or metaphorical, and it would be difficult to shake the restraint from one's mind after they had been broken. Once a proud Headmaster, a man with purpose and belief and _hope_ , now a battered old crone with a cane, a mug of untouched coffee, and a burdensome expectation held to his chest. The weight of raw memory was already more than he could carry; how could he, in good conscience, accept the needs of his allies, his students, _Remnant,_ when he could hardly stand on his own? When his dreams were plagued with screams and his waking moments with the scars she left upon his soul?

How could he live with himself if he failed them again?

A surprisingly soft touch to his shoulder jolted Ozpin out of his spiralling thoughts, brought his attention from the crisp evening blanketing Vale -- when had he broken from James' stare? -- to the hint of color at the General's chest. Better his tie than the concern that surely lingered on his face. For a precious, longing moment, the world was still. The world beyond was calm. Peace settled over the rooftops. People below drifted indoors, settled in for a well-earned night's sleep. Gentle metal fingers shifted ever so slightly, turning Ozpin a few further inches from the window, and for the first time in three days, four hours, and eleven minutes, he was blissfully aware of the air which flowed without question through his lungs.

"You're not alone anymore, Oz. We'll get through this together." No steel gripped Ironwood's murmur, though his resolve shone through. He truly believed in his offered solace. Perhaps it was of genuine thought, perhaps out of a need for the sentiment to prove true in the end... Either way, the message found its mark. Belief, after all, was not far from hope. Hope which Ozpin so dearly needed. A lingering golden glance was the Professor's eventual reassurance that his ally's -- his _friend's_ time had not gone to waste. It seemed to be enough for James, who in turn allowed a faint, sad smile to touch his lips. "Get some rest. For all of us."

The silence hung a moment longer, then, hesitant though he was, Ozpin allowed himself to finally work through a single nod. The thought of weathering the stress of nightmares on his own was overbearing. Weathering them for the good of Vale, for the good of his allies... he would manage the task for them. For all of them.


	2. Chapter 2

The door clicked shut no differently than ever, but this time Qrow's haggard face turned up to meet the General's. Perhaps Ironwood had allowed himself a different sort of sigh, perhaps relief breathed from his lips rather than despair. An ebon brow arched in question, the corner of his mouth twitching down for the briefest of moments in a check of his hope. Better to be prepared for the worst than yearning for a best which didn't exist.

"Well?"

As quiet as Ozpin had been since his retrieval, Qrow's sudden silence was far more jarring. He had always had a sort of energy about him, a flippant remark or a scoff of distaste to flavor any conversation held too close, whereas the Headmaster of Beacon spoke almost solely with a clear purpose. Ever since he'd taken up his station by the door, all but the most obvious of open-ended taunts went without his bitter seasoning. He'd tried more as of late to keep the mood... not light, but elevated, a compromise of what he used to cram into the world around him. It wasn't the same. There wasn't that sardonic vitality which only Branwen could offer. In its place came an unexpected gravity to each weighted syllable. Perhaps it was the lack of drink to blur the edges of his speech, perhaps it was something deeper. He wasn't about to offer an explanation.

Ironwood stopped at that single word, surprise clear over his features as he turned on his heel to face the bent Huntsman's broken vigil. His sudden inquiry was unexpected, but not unappreciated. "Excuse me?"

"Sure, if you tell me what's going on in there." Two cracks sounded only loud enough for Qrow to hear as he eased himself upright for the first time in hours. The circles under sharp eyes had faded partially, betraying his recent sleep and the reason for this latest bout of stiffness. He got up and walked around often enough. Once or twice a day _at least._ Who said he didn't take care of himself, eh? A stretched out sigh made itself more audible than the pops as he tipped his chair back to rest at an angle against the wall, head tilted in such a way that looked slightly uncomfortable at best. Branwen didn't seem to particularly care. His eyes stayed locked on the General.

James' answer was a lingering of silence. He searched the door between them, as if it might offer him clearer answers than what lay beyond it. What _was_ going on in there? The three remaining guardians of humanity had had enough time in the world Ozpin had been shoved into to realize the true extent of Salem's corruptive influence on anything she touched, but only a momentary glimpse at the position their friend was in. Even the flash of crimson recollection brought gloved fingers into a steeling fist. The image kept him up at night, amongst all the others which plagued him. The things which were no longer there, but never seemed to go away. If just an outside look could bring up such a reaction all this time after... he _couldn't_ imagine what months living like that could have wrought upon Ozpin, what false scenes played for him each waking second. What horrific brambles twisted into his mind after--...

"Hmph. Thanks for the chat." A sharp huff brought Qrow's eyes shut and his face to the top of the far wall, bared forearms crossing over his chest. A few locks of thick hair fell away from his eyes, but not enough to clear his vision. He hadn't exactly had the time to cut it ever since the Battle of Beacon. More like massacre. He didn't see the point in sugarcoating history. Call it what it was. People died, _kids_ died. They didn't have a damn chance. They'd fought, yeah, and at least the titanic Grimm had been frozen, but that many bodies... that many funerals didn't make a victory.

The silence stretched on beside him, though a few more precious seconds among so many lost finally snapped Ironwood's deliberation. "I want to say he's... taking the first steps." His words were careful, just as his demeanour had been behind the same searched over door. "It's an improvement, if nothing else."

"So he's still not getting better," Qrow paraphrased. His tone wasn't quite sharp, wasn't quite accusatory, wasn't quite _miserable._ It was rather impressive how much he could convey with such a limited range of tonality and physical expression, much less his newfound preference to reserved speech. "Probably at that fucking window right now."

"He said he would lie down." And Ironwood trusted him... though perhaps he trusted less that Ozpin would obey himself.

"Yeah. He also said he was fine about a hundred times, told us we shouldn't worry, but we all know that's a load of shit..." What he wouldn't give for the bite of alcohol to follow such a sour sentiment. His hand lifted from between his knees in the habit of granting himself that much, but fell back down when there was no weighted resistance of a filled flask or bottle. "Look, Tin-Man, I know you think he'll do the right thing, that he's _doing_ the right--"

"I think," James interjected, the command once more wreathed through his voice, "that he's doing his best, given the circumstances."

Qrow met the correction with a squinted, if momentary, glare. It was the most eye contact he'd allowed in damn near a month. "I don't give a damn what you _think._ What I care about is what's actually happening in there. No bullshit. No fuzzy feel good runs around the truth. What he's doing, his 'best,'" complete with mocking air quotes, "isn't good enough. His best is better than this. Yeah, the guy's been through a lot. We saw that. But if there's anything which can get him back on his feet, it's the people who need him. His kids need him. Vale needs him. Hell, this whole world needs him... But we need him, too. And right now, we're the best shot he has at getting his feet under him before _all_ your hair goes gray."

Silence once again took the hall in its grasp. Qrow hadn't noticed when the front legs of his chair had slapped down against hardwood floors. James had. The snap of sound was somewhat muffled by that same image and the quiet roar of Salem's tainted world. The snap of Ozpin's bondage under metal fingers, glove torn and stained with crimson decidedly not his own. Metal didn't bleed.

"We didn't see anything," Ironwood eventually amended. Qrow, though glaring once more, could find no real argument which he truly believed in. "What we saw was a glimpse. Nothing more. We spent months, Branwen. All of us. In that place, who's to say that couldn't have felt like years? Decades, maybe more. He's strong, we all know that, but we know better than anyone that he isn't invulnerable."

"And you're wrong again." The Huntsman replied with equal quiet, finally standing from his post to draw his bone-dry flask. Closing the distance, he tucked it into the General's breast pocket. He needed some excuse to be sure his voice was completely masked from Ozpin's startling senses. Little more than a breath escaped him as he patted the impression of metal, partially in request. If things were changing, he'd definitely need a drink available.

"No one knew it better than _her."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as I received a startling number of hits and kudos, congrats. There's a chapter two! Thanks for such a warm welcome to posting here, wasn't really expecting this much attention. Tips and criticism always appreciated (granted, so is praise to stoke my ego and my typing fingers, eyy?), including stuff about how to use this site in general. Another chapter with enough (read as: just a couple kudos or hits probably) requests, hopefully I'll be able to kick myself enough to get it done sooner than a month this time around.

**Author's Note:**

> So... I hurt. V3 messed me up something fierce and Ozpin just needs many hugs and for Qrow to spike his coffee. I'm always a slut for recovery stuff, especially when it takes a while. Lemme know if there's interest and I'll see if I can't keep this going.


End file.
